Good To See You, My old Friend
by HugAZombie
Summary: "Hello world, how you been? Good to see you, my old friend. Sometimes I feel as cold as steel and broken like I'm never gonna heal." 'Arthur lays on the bed, a broken prince, and Merlin just watches him, numbed from everything.' Merthur slash. UNBETA'd


_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. The lyrics belong to the band Lady Antebellum (Hello World) and whoever else. _

_**Notes: **__Drug abuse.__Its 2:14 in the morning in England (edit before posting: when I started this it was anyway!). I can't sleep so I listened to music instead. Here is what came about. _

_I did look up things for this, but I didn't do the proper in depth research I might've done for a chaptered piece, so don't expect anything in here to be a true representation of drug addiction/withdrawal/rehabilitation. This is non-linear, and the first few 'present' scene are within the first few hours, after that there will be time skips like in the 'past' scenes. Lets just pretend Arthur has taken an assortment of drugs and alcohol because I cannot be bothered to pick out specific details about specific drugs. I'm lazy lol. _

_Enjoy._

* * *

**Good to See You, My Old Friend**

"_Well, hello world, how you been? Good to see you, my old friend. Sometimes I feel as cold as steel and broken like I'm never gonna heal." _

Merlin just watches him through a window and wonders if this is somehow his fault. A hurricane of emotions – _furybetrayalsorrowguiltconfu sion_ – rage through him, none settling long enough to determine his reaction. They are so strong, so tumultuous and numerous that his brain just shits them down into a blissful, detached numbness.

Merlin just watches him. This is the best hospital in the country, with one of the best specialists flying over from America on a favour and a price. He feels cold. He feels nothing. Shock, someone whispered to him but he paid no attention. He can't focus on anything other than the figure on the bed – his best friend. Once he thought him steel, but even steel can shatter when you get it cold enough.

Arthur lays on the bed, a broken prince, and Merlin just watches him, numbed from everything.

* * *

Merlin had always known Arthur had a strange kind of fragility to him. His mothers' death had hit him hard and his father's constant, incessant pressure to succeed and better him strained the blond. Merlin had promised Ygraine when she was still alive that he would look out for him – be the brains to his brawn – and keep him safe.

He failed her when he didn't pay more attention to the new friends Arthur was acquiring. At first he thought he was a good thing. Arthur had a bunch of acquaintances but there are few who he truly called a friend. So at first Merlin just figured he was finally branching out and opening up a little bit more and didn't think anymore of it.

That was his first mistake.

* * *

He is still sleeping when Uther turns up again, his work day over. Merlin and Uther had never really seen eye to eye – Uther saw him as a lower class ruffian and he saw Uther as a cold hearted totalitarian.

Now he half jogs up to Merlin where he collapsed into the uncomfortable hospital chair outside of Arthurs' allocated room, his outlined in sleeplessness and face aged with worry.

There is no trace of the supposed dictator now.

Merlin shifts in his seat, glances up at the man before dropping his gaze back to his limp hands. "He's sleeping. He'll recover, although his kidneys are probably shit and his lungs fucked and –"

He only realises his voice had been rising and edging down the slippery slope of hysteria when Uther sits beside him and puts his hand on Merlin's knee and briefly squeezes. Merlin dares to glance up again and there are tears shimmering in Uthers' usually cold eyes and Merlin can feel his own well up.

They sit in silence, both unwilling to face the reality sleeping within.

* * *

Arthur started to get a bit louder and a bit rougher. At first Merlin though nothing of it. Perhaps his new friends were just a bit rowdier then Merlin. He shrugged it off when Arthur skipped a few of his university lectures and staggered into their dorm drunk so late it's early. He and Arthur had very different interests.

Arthur had always liked pubs and clubs where Merlin preferred a book or cheesy made-for-TV crime drama or science fiction series. There was a tiny flame of annoyance in his gut that Arthur was just blowing off some of his lessons, but that was no different then what he felt in school.

He did come home smelling like pot one night and Merlin recoiled, nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Are you _high_?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "No" Then he gets that devilish smirk that always get Merlin _right there. _"Was earlier though. Mike got some stuff of a friend."

"Arthur!" Merlin was appalled. "Seriously?"

And Arthur threw him a look that was withering and mocking, with just an edge of cruelty that was new and unexpected. "Chill the fuck out _Mer_lin. It's just a bit of pot." Then, as if realising his words were a touch too biting to be normal, smiled and half shrugged. "I got the new Star Trek film if you wanna watch it?"

Merlin eyes his friend for a moment, holding onto the sting before letting it go with a smile. "Sure. I'll go grab some popcorn."

That was his second mistake.

* * *

At first he doesn't know where he is. It's so bright when he opens his eyes, blinding white nothingness and he complains in the back of his throat. His mouth feels like sandpaper and he smacks his lips in an attempt to find moisture.

He scrunches up his eyes and once again braves opening his eyes. Everything comes into focus slowly – the blandness of the room, the sterile smell, the hard mattress and rough cover. He glances around him.

A hospital room?

A hospital room.

Memories slam into him, flickering and taunting. There are flashes of parties and girls and guys and injections and pretty baby blues wide with panic and someone screaming his name along with the _thudthudthud_ of music.

He swallows and it hurts.

He glances around the empty room and feels nothing. And he likes that.

* * *

It happened more and more and more. With alarming frequency, Arthur stumbled in at whatever o'clock in the morning stinking to high heaven of smoke and pot and alcohol. His eyes would be blurry and speech slurred and his overall expression downright ridiculous.

The first few times Merlin would climb out of bed, barely half awake, and help his disorderly friend into his room – stripping him to his boxers and more often than not putting him in the recovery position.

Just in case.

He would then curl up in the seat in the corner that Arthur usually just dumped his clothes on and dozed, watching over him as he slept off his stupid overindulgence.

Later he just hefted Arthur into the recovery position wherever he fell and left him there, crawling into bed with resentment and waking up with guilt. A guilt Arthur didn't seem to share or even care about.

Despite it all, Merlin bit his tongue, refusing to admit to himself that he would rather suffer through hell and back for Arthur then chew him out, because he was an idiot in stupid love and a push over to boot.

Letting his heart rule over his head was his third mistake. And, when thinking back over it all, Merlin will wonder if he can ever even _hope _to atone for his failures.

* * *

"Son."

Arthur tenses at the voice. It isn't the voice is had hoped to hear in the near future. His father had no place here, not in this hospital room, not in his life. He doesn't want his father here, with his disapproving frown and cruel words that cut like knives.

He closes his eyes for but a second before he turns to face the man at the core of it all. "Father."

Uther looks centuries older then when Arthur had last seen him: haggard, pale and tired. Beneath the shiny veneer of the cold businessman is evident weariness. Arthur can't bring himself to care.

"You've been here sixteen hours. They don't want to let you out, but I am signing you out anyway. There is little these doctors can our own cannot. I assume you will be more comfortable at home in the least and can detox in private." His tone is detached and Arthur laughs bitterly.

"Can't handle the embarrassment? Nurse gossip and all that."

"Don't be so stupid, Arthur," his father hisses. "You almost _died_, you _stupid, arrogant little fool_." The flare of anger dies as soon as it breathed life and Arthur is taken aback by the fear hidden in those words. Uther steps back from the bed, glancing out of the small window and watching a nurse pass by in silence.

"I thought you'd heal better when at home, is all." Those eyes slash in Arthur's direction. "You're withdrawal will not be pleasant and the doctors belief you only have a few hours until it begins."

"Is that all that you can say, _dad_?"

Uther pauses at the door. "I think that is all that needs to be said, by me. Merlin, however, is a different story." And with that, his father leaves without a backwards glance.

* * *

"Will you just stop and listen to me?" Merlin's voice had risen to a near desperate plea. Arthur had come home stinking of drugs and sex and alcohol, giggling like a moron and Merlin had had _enough_.

"When the last time you went to class? The last you even looked at a book? When was the last time you were actually _sober, _Arthur?"

Those blue eyes that Merlin had seen many a time alight with a teasing laughter were now glazed and furious. "Why are you doing this Merlin? Can't bear to see me having fun, can you? And fuck the lectures. I don't even want to be here. So fuck off."

Merlin laughed bitterly. "Why am I doing this? I'm doing this because I care about you, you idiot. Can't you see that you're slipping further and further away from me? You're ruining yourself. _I fucking care about you, you goddamn ungrateful arsehole_!" Merlin was gripping the back of the sofa so hard his fingers punched a hole through the fabric. His muscles were tensed with fury, anger and hurt collided and spun around his veins, setting him aflame with worry and pain.

"You are breaking apart and you won't let me help! We're best fucking friends, Arthur. Who's the one who cleans you up, who puts you to bed and sorts you out? Not your new fucking druggie friends, me. It's fucking me, Arthur, the one who has always been there."

Arthur leant against the wall near the front door, a horrible smirk crawling across his face like oil. "Aw," he mocked cruelly. "Does ickle Merlin have a crush on his bestest best friend? Does the little queer fancy me?" His snort was ugly and Merlin visibly recoiled, horror and hurt etched across his expression. "You make me sick, Merlin. You're just like dad wanting me to be perfect and brilliant and the best. Well fuck you. Fuck his standards and fuck your care, you dirty, filthy little queer."

Then Arthur spat at Merlin feet and Merlin stared down at it. His heart wrenched and his eyes shamefully filled. Merlin didn't look up, keeping his eyes on the stain.

"Leave, Arthur." It was whispered but Arthur heard it clear as day.

"With pleasure." Merlin missed the twisted triumph on his expression, fed by drugs and alcohol and the convincing words of his new friends.

When the door closed, the first tear fell.

* * *

The hospital room is quiet after the _snick_ of the door. Merlin hovers by the door as Arthur sits on the edge of his bed. Uther had told him that he was checking Arthur out so that he can rage and suffer through the detox in his home territory. Merlin agreed that it would be the best step, but as easy as it is talking about this on the other side of the door with a man who was only brought in after the fact, is very different as to facing Arthur face on.

He shifts and Arthur takes that, rather than his initial entrance, as the chance to acknowledge him.

"Merlin."

Merlin resists the urge to close his eyes and gather himself. He steps further into the room. "Hello Arthur." He is wary, not venturing any closer. Arthur looks terrible – he has lost a lot of weight, eyes haunted and face gaunt.

This isn't _his_ Arthur.

"Heard your father is checking you out so you can go home."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Probably doesn't want the nurses to talk and news to get back to his clients."

"He cares about you," Merlin snaps, eyes locked on Arthur, blue eyes aflame. "We all care. We almost lost you."

Arthur clenches his jaw and looks away. He doesn't want to see the hurt in Merlin's gaze anymore.

"You hurt me a lot Arthur." He can look away, Arthur finds, but he can't escape the words. "You hurt me a lot, I _told_ you and then I had to _find_ you..." Merlin shakes his head. "You're getting a second chance, please, _please_ don't mess this up."

It's only when Merlin leaves that Arthur can look back where Merlin had been standing, the weight of everything heavy on his shoulders.

* * *

Merlin was overlooking his notes on microbiology, curled up into the corner of the sofa. Doctor Who was playing in the background, the Tenth Doctor darting around sprouting intelligence on a low volume, and a cooling tea in his favourite chipped mug bought by his mother one Christmas sitting on the coffee table.

It was nearing ten o'clock when the door burst open after the telltale scraping of a key trying to find the lock. Merlin didn't bother to glance around, simply flipped the page in his notebook. The staggering footsteps were enough to tell him Arthur was drunk.

They hadn't spoken in the past few days after the argument. Arthur was usually home after Merlin went to bed and Merlin gone to class or the library long before Arthur even thought about rising.

The next thing Merlin knew, there was a body draped over the back of the sofa, blond hair tickling his cheek where the top of Arthur's head rests on his shoulder.

"_Mer_lin..." the blond giggled and Merlin closed his eyes before placing his textbook on the cushion beside him with pointed delicacy.

"Arthur."

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Arthur sing-songed like a child. "I'm really really reallyreallyreally _sor_ry."

Merlin just shakes his head, offended rather than placated. "I would believe it if you were actually sober, Arthur," he muttered, before coming around the back of the sober and hauling his friend upright. "You're drunk," he stated neutrally. "Let's get you to bed and if you apologise in the morning, then I'll believe you."

Arthur grinned at him dopily. "I'll remember, I will so completely remember and... and..." Merlin dropped the man on his bed with little remorse. Arthur simply laughed more.

"Go to sleep, Arthur." Merlin left then, closing the door with only a moment on the other side to gather himself before returning to his studies.

The next morning the normal routine continued and no apology offered.

* * *

Arthur sits on the bed of the guest room in his fathers' everyday London home. The room is needlessly large, much more so then his modest student flat that he had gotten so used too over the few terms he had spent there.

Here are bland, neutral whites and elegance. His suitcase is a splash of colour – a bright blue that Merlin had liked – on the bed, lid open and clothes spilling out in his aimless shifting through. Now he just sits on the edge of the bed staring blankly at the wall.

He doesn't like it here. There is no peeling paint or squeky mattress. There is no torn, worn books that are well thumbed through or pens and pencils and highlighters littering all surfaces from his studying. There are no pictures of him and Merlin in various states of sobriety, of him and friends from his business course, of random sights and snapshots from home. There is no framed picture of his mother beside his bed, next to his hastily repaired alarm clock after it almost met its end against the wall.

There is no Merlin bumbling and humming and stumbling around outside, no noises and babble from the TV, no cooling, badly made coffee in his favourite mug on the side.

There is no comfort and warmth. There is no laughter or smiles or ridiculous ears. There are no ratty jumpers (except the one stuck deep in the bottom of his suitcase) and no bright grins.

Arthur closes his eyes, and as the addiction begins to stir, craving a fix, he only just begins to realise just how badly he has fucked up.

* * *

It had been a while since they have spoken. It'd been two months since that first argument and since then Arthur had gotten more and more hostile towards his once-best friend, going as far as to launch a glass at his head – a glass that would have hit had Merlin not expertly dodged.

And that had been the absolute limit. Merlin had learnt not to flinch at the cruel words his friend would spit when his staggering in coincided with Merlin's TV schedule or dinner time and Merlin expressed concern. He had gotten used to the distrustful glares and hateful sneers and verbal outbursts and yes, they hurt, but Merlin was at a loss of how to confront his friend without getting another tongue lashing like before.

He wasn't willing to go through that again. His own pride, his hurt and betrayal warred with his anxiety that Arthur was _just not right _and _ohgod, something is seriously wrong_.

And to his shame, his own pain trumped that of his friend and he remained wary and distant (which didn't help the glass-throwing incident at all) until all he ever saw of Arthur was maybe a flash of blond or the lingering stench of intoxication.

And, when looking back over it all, Merlin will know that as much as Arthur needs to apologise, Merlin probably has much more to apologise for.

Because he gave up and that is worse than anything Arthur had ever done.

* * *

He is sweating and feverish. The hunger tears through him like beast, roaring and screaming in his head – it demands and commands and shrieks. Sweat beads on his forehead and upper lip, under his arms and running along his stomach as he lies on his back on the bed.

He is jittery and exhausted at the same time – and Christ does this feel like a bad trip. His bones ache down to the marrow and yet he cannot stop the itch to move, and pace and shift. His stomach has shooting pains and, despite feeling completely empty, also needs to vomit – the bile is acidic in the back of his throat.

His heart aches, broken perhaps and his eyes feel odd – burning and wet and –oh god, what has he done? Crushing sadness and anger and nothingness.

He is heated and sickening and he _hurts. _And he just _wants_, just wants a little bit _pleasejustalittletomakethepa ingoaway pleasepleaseonlyalittle_, _ithurtpleaselittlehurtspleas emorepleaseplease ohgoditstoomuch makemehappytakeawaythehurt makeitalldisappearmake_me_disappear..._

He thinks he is crying and distantly he wonders if this is hell.

* * *

Merlin didn't even see it coming really. He hand Arthur hadn't had proper contact for a few months now. It was just at the beginning of the Easter break and Merlin had been late in the library creating the base for an assignment due after the holiday. In two days he would be leaving to go and visit his mother and family friend and childhood doctor Gaius, and a few others like Will who hadn't wanted to go to university.

It was after dark, about ten o'clock in the evening and Gilli, a nice boy on the same course as he and with whom he had been flirting with semi-seriously had accompanied him so they could help each other out – his feelings for Arthur, however faded at the moment, were obviously not reciprocated and that never stopped Merlin from dating both sexes. The pair were walking rather close, elbows and shoulders brushing (both were nervous and quite when it came to relationships that frustrated Merlin because they would both be ancient before either decided to make an actual move) and they decided to take the quicker route to their dormitories (West House and Brooklands) by cutting behind the Art gallery and across the shadowed, secluded area obscured by trees. There was a lamppost just ahead, the ugly orange light sputtering.

The two were talking about something, and laughing and generally enjoying each other's company when they stumbled across a large group of kids about their own age. The group were loud and rowdy, and Merlin could make out a few bottles, broken and whole, finished and full and they were going to just skirt around them quietly, when Merlin caught sight of Arthur amongst the thick of the group.

His nose was bleeding and his eyes were bruised purple. He looked gaunt and sickly and wrong and Merlin vaguely remembers apologising to Gilli before wading through the bodies to Arthur.

He didn't really remember much after. He just knew that Arthur reacted very badly to his concern, worse than usual, hyped up by his company, Merlin thought later as he nursed his burst lip. All he can remember really are screamed words, furious and stuttering in the hurt and betrayal, he remembered the laughing and jeering, and the cruel, cruel words.

He remembered the snap of something deep inside of him and remembered taking a swing. There were just flashes then, of fists and blood and rage and pain and a mash-up of everything and nothing.

When Merlin fully came back to himself that evening, his knuckles were bloody, his lip bloodier and Gilli just held him quietly as Merlin watched the wall in silence.

* * *

Arthur doesn't like this woman. She seems friendly enough; her clothes are on the casual side of smart, her face round and open with charming dimples when she smiles and eyes bright with intelligence and understanding.

But he doesn't like her.

He doesn't like the notebook on her lap, open at a blank page, and the pen she twiddles in her fingers. This is his fourth session with the psychiatrist his father booked and he doesn't like her.

"You aren't comfortable talking about your drug problem, are you?"

She is blunt. Another thing he doesn't like. It's not like she is Merlin, after all.

"Or about your father." She tilts her head pensively, the end of her pen taps against the page. "So, instead of talking about any of that stuff, why don't we talk about Merlin? How did you meet? When did you meet? I've spoken to him, nothing personal, but just to get the perspective of a close friend on the situation as a whole. He seems lovely: positive, sweet, funny – a good person."

Arthur looks down at his knuckles and catches a flash of Merlin broken expression from way before when this mess was just starting and nods jerkily.

"He's the best."

* * *

The house in front of him loomed over him like a castle. He glanced around him self-consciously. His beaten up Beetle that had once belonged to Gaius and was probably in his prime long before even him, looked glaringly out of place on the spotless paved driveway.

His lip had been healing nicely over the last few days since the fight. Merlin had lied to his mother when she asked how he had gotten it. _Walked in a door_, he had said. His clumsiness was well-known and the excuse accepted. He did not want his mother to know, she would only worry.

He gingerly touched his lip, wincing at the slight sting more out of reflex then actual pain. He dropped his hand, braced himself before jabbing at the buzzer. He listened to the familiar chime ring out around the house.

There were a few moments waiting before to the door with pulled open and Merlin is staring at Uther Pendragon.

And Uther Pendragon was staring back.

"I assume you are already aware that Arthur has opted to stay at university." His tone was dismissive and cold, but Merlin was mostly used to that.

"I-I know that," Merlin stuttered. Uther always intimidated him. "I wanted to talk to you, if that was alright?" Uther stared at him some more, eyes sliding down his form as if assuring that Merlin was, in fact, clean enough to enter his home.

"It's about Arthur," he adds quietly.

"Very well." Uther retreats back into the house and Merlin scurries after him, closing the door and hurrying down the corridor until he found himself in Uthers study. It was one of the only rooms Merlin had never been in. It was completely Uther's domain and the man was reflected in every inch of it, attractive aged wood that was coldly handsome and just as severe. Each piece cost more then Merlin's entire life and he perched on the edge of the other chair with a small internal wince at the thought of being in here.

Uther sat, regal as a king, behind the desk. His fingers were steepled and and eyes evaluating.

"My son?" He prompted eventually when ti was clear Merlin wasn't inclined to start conversation.

"Ah, right. Um... well, there's something wrong with him, sir." A mild flare of worry sparked in those eyes and stayed longer then Merlin would've guessed. He was waved on. "He hasn't been to any of his lectures, he has been drinking and I think possibly doing drugs... I've tried to talk to him but he keeps blocking me out and I..." Merlin scratches his cheek. He hadn't wanted to come here, but after the last confrontation he thought it may be best. "I was hoping maybe you could talk to him."

"Mister Emrys," and didn't that just sound condescending. "What you are telling me is no different from what I expected," Uther said dismissively. "He wasn't convinced on the course and now is trying to rebel by doing such things. It is nothing. He will recognise his folly soon enough and return to his usual _charming_ self."

Merlin chewed his lip and winced it the pain. "I think it's more than just a rebellion, I have seen Arthur rebel – this is something more-"

"I know my son, Mister Emrys. He would not disappoint me or disgrace me in such a way. This is an act of rebellion that will he will snap out of soon enough. I do not deem my sons' rebellions as worth my attention, that is, after all, all they are orchestrated for. His mother pampered him, and it has been to his detriment, god rest her soul.

I thank" and, truly, that was convincing, "you for your concern, but it is unnecessary. Return to your mother."

"But-"

"Do not assume to know my son better than me."

Merlin just left then, defeated. Later, united by grief and fear and sorrow, Merlin would receive his first and only apology from the man who once terrified him, and once only saw the father behind the business. And silently, he will vow never to forget it.

* * *

"Get out!"

"No."

"I hate you! I fucking _hate_ you! Leave me alone, I don't want you here."

"No."

"Get out! _Get out get out get out_! You. Are. Not. Wanted. Do you get that? I don't want to see your face anywhere near me, you make me sick. I hate you, I hate everything about you. Just leave me alone, since I am such a disappointment to you! I don't need you; I don't want you, so fuck. Off."

"Arthur..."

"No, don't you 'Arthur' me you piece of shit. Why do you suddenly care about what happens to me now? You didn't before. You left me too it, too much fucking trouble for you. So fuck off out of my life, you shouldn't be here."

"I'm not leaving you, Arthur."

"Why the fuck not? I _want_ you too, I _want_ you gone."

"I left you once, Arthur. I gave up on you once and I almost lost you. I will not let that happen ever again. You're stuck with me, because I am not ever leaving you again. I cannot, I _will not_, lose you to anyone or anything. Not again."

"...Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

It was as if Arthur had permanently moved out. The flat was silent apart from him. Merlin guesses the blond had crashed with some of his new-found buddies, overindulging on his many vices. The bitterness burned like a flame.

Merlin closed his eyes. The silence was deafening. He didn't even know what happened between them. When had it begun? When had everything shattered so completely? Memories seared themselves into his minds' eyes – a montage of a past that Merlin wasn't truly convinced even occurred anymore, because surely that Arthur couldn't have possibly morphed into the monstrous caricature that wears his face now.

Merlin didn't know where his Arthur was but the one who started distancing himself, drinking his nights away and throwing glasses and punches and barbs was not _his_ Arthur.

He had no idea where his Arthur had but he definitely wasn't here, and there's a little something broken in him at the thought.

The silence drew on, regardless.

* * *

Merlin had been expecting it, not because Arthur is weak-willed, but because the drugs are too addicting. So he refuses to feel hurt and disappointed when he collects Arthur from a local club and favourite haunt of Arthurs (one of a few places Merlin had previously canvassed, handing out his number in case of trouble) and finds him in the alley, Leon, the owner who is on good terms with the both of them, leaning over him in worry. The needle is next to Arthur and Arthur looks completely blissed out and euphoric.

"I came out as soon as I realised he was no longer in the club," Leon says from where he is crouched. "The needle is clean luckily, and he is safe from that."

"Where did he get it?" Merlin asks just as softly as he approaches.

"I have no idea, but I will find out." The promise is fierce and Merlin smiles a little, despite the jar in his chest.

"_Mer_lin." The dark haired man shifts his attention from Leon to his intoxicated friend. "Merlin is that you?" The voice is dreamy and vague.

"Yeah," Merlin breathes, coming to crouch beside him on the other side. "I'll always come for you."

"Yeah," Arthur agrees. "Yeah, I know you will. You're always there" He smiles dopily.

Merlin returns it but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Let's get you home, you can sleep it off."

Merlin stays with him the next few days to help Arthur deal with his own disappointment and pain and the cravings for _just a little more._

Merlin will never break his promise again.

* * *

Merlin was leaving the club, delightfully tipsy, with a group from his course, celebrating good results on their Easter assignments.

He just Happened to glance over his shoulder into the club, checking everyone was with them, and caught sight of an obviously inebriated Arthur, aggressively kissing one girl, hands everywhere, while sleazy looking guy settled his hands on the blonds hips from behind with a disgusting smirk.

Merlin swallows the hollowness, the fear and the anxiety and turns away. Arthur made it well known that Merlin had no business in his business.

Yet another regret on a never ending list of them.

* * *

It is just a simple check out after the relapse, just to make sure everything is 100 per cent. Or as 100 per cent as they can be. The boys are silent as they wait for the doctor to call them in, but they have been holding hands tightly for the entirety of hour and while both have noticed, neither has moved away.

* * *

The rumours were the worst, because Merlin didn't know if they were true or not.

"_You heard about that Pendragon? Doped up to his eyebrows, apparently."_

"_Pendragon, you now the son of _The _Pendragon, dropped out of university! Can you believe it? Fucking privileged arsehole, bet the work was too much for his highness."_

"_There are a couple of girls running around claiming to be pregnant with Arthur Pendragon's baby!"_

"_I saw that Pendragon in the club the other night, what a fucking man-whore. Will say yes to anyone, I heard. A complete embarrassment to his family." _

"_I heard that Pendragon hangs around with a gang!"_

"_I heard he was shot!"_

"_I thought he shot someone?"_

"_Didn't he get arrested?"_

"_Oh, Arthur Pendragon? Blond? Isn't he in hospital after fighting?"_

"_...Alcohol poisoning..."_

"_...Fighting..."_

"_...Stabbed..."_

"_...Druggie..."_

"_...Slut..."_

"_...Dying..."_

"_Dead."_

But then, that was probably for the best.

* * *

The room is dim with only the lamp on the bedside table on. They are in Merlin's home now. It's over the weekend and Merlin ventured home as he does whenever he has a free moment. He is leaning against the headboard of the bed next to him, textbooks around him like a shield, notebook on his lap as he scrawls over it and highlight various parts.

Arthur likes watching Merlin like this, likes the way his brows furrow and his tongue sticks out just a little bit. He likes the play of shadows across Merlin's face and the glitter in his eyes when he looks up , which he does frequently as if to assure himself Arthur is still there.

"I'm sorry." He has said it before. He has screamed it, whispered it and sobbed it, however only this time does it feel real. He is not flying high on emotion; not really, he is rational and calm and just... truly sorry.

Merlin looks up from his work, blinks, before setting it aside. He twists so he is facing Arthur head on, a soft expression on his face, in his eyes.

"I know you are. And so am I."

"You don't –"

Merlin smiles a little sadly, pressing his fingers against Arthurs' lips to silence him. "Yes, I do. I gave upon you when you needed me most. I'm not saying you weren't a dick, didn't make a mistake and have nothing to apologise for because you do, but so do I. And when I think about it, you were forgiven a long time ago." Merlin smiles for real this time. "I never could ever stay angry at you."

Arthur pulls the hand away from his mouth and covers it with both of his own. He stares at their hands for a moment before slipping the fingers of one of his hands through Merlin's, lacing them together.

"There is nothing to forgive with you," Arthur says quietly, earnestly. "But, if it helps you for me to say you're forgiven, you are. Forgiven, I mean. Always. And I am sorry for all the things I said and done. You, you are my best friend you know, Merlin, even when I was pushing you away and being cruel to you, you were all I could think about."

They sit in silence, hand in hand, before Arthur leans over, pressing his lips to Merlin's sweetly, chastely.

Vulnerability Merlin had only witnessed once before then Arthur was practically dying in his arms shines bright. "Don't leave me."

Merlin squeezes his hand assuringly. "Never again," he vows.

Their lips meet again as if they had practiced this a million times over.

* * *

His phone rung and his world shattered.

"Merlin? Oh _god_, Merlin you need to get here!"

"Gwen? What's wrong?"

"Please Merlin just get here... I don't-Christ, I don't think he is okay and the ambulance is coming and you need to be here because I don't know if he is going to make it –"

"Wait, Gwen. Slow down, just tell me what's wrong."

"It's Arthur, oh my god, its Arthur and I don't know what to do –"

"Where are you? I'm getting my keys now and I promise you I will be there as soon as possible."

"The Pink Toothbrush –"

Merlin didn't wait for more. He was already half way down the stairs and heading towards the front door of the building.

He was at the club in less than five minutes. He wasn't ready for what he found.

* * *

They are sitting down to dinner and the tenseness from before, whilst still present, is no longer as hard or strong. Arthur, Merlin and Uther are all sitting down at the table. They are laughing and joking, and Arthur makes a point of touching Merlin whenever possible and Uther doesn't bat an eyelid. He isn't bothered in the slightest, and in fact, looked almost pleased when told of their involvement.

Uther never said anything about Arthur's drop out of university and enrolment as a tattoo apprentice. Arthur's art always had been exceptional, like his mothers'. Merlin is welcome within the home, eternally welcome and Uther and Merlin have even shared a few coffees together, waiting for Arthur to return from work or the shops.

Uther and Merlin had had their heart to heart – spoken their fears and apologises and thoughts on each other without a fear of reprisal. They were torn apart by their different views on Arthur and his future and brought together by a joint fear of losing him.

"So, how was work today, Uther?"

Uther tilts his head in thought as he sips on his wine. "It was alright, the new assistant is an imbecile. I do not know how he graduated out of university."

Merlin grins. "Luckily that's mostly Catrina's job isn't it? Dealing with the useless underlings?"

Uther quirks an eyebrow. "Indeed."

"What about you Arthur?" Merlin asks. He already knows, but figures there are things to shared with Uther too. Their relationship is far from repaired but its healing progressively.

"Simon let me work on my first real piece on a customer, A Japanese Koi fish in colour on someone's back – I have a picture." Arthur looks to genuinely proud of himself that Merlin can't stop the secondly wave of pride and happiness that he felt when he was first told the news and shown the picture.

There is a moment of silence before Uther speaks. "Well done, son. I would like to see that picture if possible." When Merlin looks there is genuine pride in Uthers' eyes as well and a very faint flush of pleasure On Arthurs' cheeks and the glint of surprise in his eyes.

And Arthur nods, as happy to share his art as Uther seems to be in looking at it.

* * *

His best friend was dying right in front of him and there was nothing he could do. Merlin had frozen at the sight of his friend sprawled across the red sofas.

What had he taken? How much?

His voice was a broken whisper. A single word. And Arthur didn't respond.

_How could he not respond? _

Merlin all but collapsed beside Arthurs' prone body.

The sirens ricocheted around his head as they drew near. The words of crowd were wasps. His hand shook as it reached to touch Arthurs' cold counterpart.

Another broken sound, this time not even a word.

Everything had slowed down into black. How was this even possible? Pain ripped through his chest, tearing apart his apathy and shock and hauling him forward into the present. Panic clawed up his thought, tightening a belt around his chest so he couldn't breathe. Someone touched his shoulder but Merlin didn't move. He couldn't.

Couldn't they see?

Pain flared through his body, the agony of a broken heart splintering through his veins and _ohgodwhy_?

Betrayal and fury and hate and love seared and burned through him and his eyes were blurring and his lungs were stuck and his limbs wouldn't move and ohgodno?!

What was going on?

He couldn't lose him?

Not Arthur, not his best friend.

"I'm sorry."

Something was acidic in his heart; bubbling, melting, destroying.

"I am so sorry."

His face feels wet and sticky and whycan'thebreathe?

"Don't leave me."

The betrayal was ice in his heart, a dagger to pluck out his eyes and blind him, to tear out his heart and devour him. The rage was a paralytic, twisting his bones into grotesque steel replicas that he could not control. The fear was everything, all encompassing and _hecannotbreathe._

"Please don't leave me."

It all crashed down on him like a tsunami wave and Merlin didn't know which way was up, where he was or who was with him, all he can see is the broken friend he failed. The boy he failed so completely.

And this was his fault. He should've been there, his best friend was dying and it was _all his fault_! Someone was trying to move him but he couldn't leave! This was his fault, he couldn't leave!

_Whycan'tyouseethat?!_

"Arthur!"

His best friend was dying and it was all Merlin's fault.

* * *

It's been two years since Merlin finding Arthur at the club, and eighteen months since the relapse. Merlin is going onto his third year of university and is getting good grades – he looking to finishing his course with good enough results to get him the choice of pathology labs to work at.

Arthur is building his name as an excellent tattooist in his own right, shooting up from apprentice to his recently appointed position of a full tattooist. They don't yet share a flat, but they are both saving up for one for when Merlin leaves university and can commute to work.

They stand together now, with Hunith and Uther in the background awaiting their turn, at Ygraine's grave. Her tombstone is a beautiful black stone, with cursive writing. Their flowers, a bunch of red roses, because only the best for Ygraine, rest on the mound of earth peacefully.

Two years since the day when Merlin feared he would be burying his best friend in the patch beside this woman. More years since the last time Arthur had been here.

He is kneeling now, Merlin standing just behind him. He doesn't mean to catch Arthurs' whispers but he does and he can't help but smile.

"I didn't come to see you before, because I was angry. Then I was fucked up. _I_ fucked up. But I'm good now mum, I promise. I'm so good. I'm working on my art, it's not quite the same as yours but I like it and dad... dad isn't so overbearing anymore or pressurizing or any of those things that contributed..." Arthur shakes his head.

"Never mind about all that, just know that he's good. That I'm good. And... and that Merlin and I are good. Together. You liked him didn't you? Of course you did, everyone likes Merlin, the insufferable git. It's the ears, they disarm you. I really hope you're proud of me. Now, at least. Because I screwed up but I also sorted myself out and I'm happy, so happy... but don't tell Merlin." Merlin bites the inside of his lip to keep from smiling, feeling equal parts guilty and pleased at accidently eavesdropping and watches and Arthur leaves forward to press a kiss on the tombstone.

"Love you mum."

He straightens and holds his hand out for Merlin, who takes it without hesitation.

"Ready to go?" Merlin asks and Arthur nods.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

One last smile at the gravestone and they turn back up the well worn path in the grass.

Two years since Merlin thought he was going to lose the best thing in his life. Eighteen months since the relapse – that's 547 days. There are no promises, there are no guarantees.

There are however, 557 days together and counting.

"_All the empty disappears; I remember why I'm here. Just surrender and believe, I fall down on my knees. Oh hello world, hello world, hello world."_

* * *

_This is completely unbeta'd. I am far too knackered to look through it atm. Please overlook any grammar/spelling mistakes. I will sort them out at a later __date. _


End file.
